Devil Cop by Owen Townend

Neil and I stood at the dull green embankment overlooking our freshly-tarmacked school playground. He was on a low sandstone wall and I beside it.

            Despite being close friends, conversation didn't come easily between us. Neil was the stoic type with his far-off gaze and intense pout while I was all twitchy and sweaty.

            "I have this idea for a video game," I told him one day.

            "Like Tekken?" he asked. We adored Tekken 3 but never really got far with it.

            "It's not a beat-em-up," I spoke firmly. "It's a platform adventure game."

            "Name?"

            "Devil Cop."

            It was vivid in my mind: a skinny red imp with hunched shoulders and the tinted shades that American police officers wore in TV shows. I had already drawn up concept art of Devil Cop: machine gun in one hand, barrel of nuclear waste in the other. He had very big hands.

            Neil nodded but didn't once look at me. One might have thought the nearby kickabout fascinated him but then I knew he wasn't sporty. "I like it. We could do something with that."

            "We?"

            "My brother is a game developer. He's great with computers. I'll tell him about Devil Cop and see what he can do."

            My face was sore from smiling. I looked just like Devil Cop with his toothy grin though without the fangs. I told Neil more about my idea. He loved the machine gun. He was amused by the nuclear waste. "What about bad guys?"

            "Bad guys?" I hadn't really thought about them.

            "I think they should be demons too but bigger ones. Red and black."

            Devil Cop was red and black. I felt the bad guys should have had a different colour scheme. Still I had never seen that glint in Neil's black eye before. He even jumped off the wall and nudged me as we talked.

            "And this Devil Cop, he should say something cool," he went on, sticking his tongue out in excitement. "He should shoot a guy then say something like, 'Wrong day to climb out of hell.'"

            "Actually," I said, "I thought he might say, 'Go ahead. Respawn, Spawn of Satan.'"

            Neil scratched his sandy brown hair and shrugged. "Needs work but okay."

From that moment on, Devil Cop became our idea. At playtime I would ask Neil how his brother was getting along with developing the game.

            "Great," he said. "You won't believe the graphics, man! Devil Cop looks just like Kain from Soul Reaver!"

            I frowned. "Just like Kain?"

            Neil hesitated. "Well not exactly like him. Devil Cop has a police hat. And a huge machine gun."

            "How big?"

            "Rambo big."

            I hadn't seen any of the Rambo films. Still I was impressed. "And what colour is he?"

            "Dark green."

            "Why green?"

            "Scales look better when they're dark green."

            I frowned again. "Are you making Devil Cop look like a dragon?"

            Neil's eyes intensified. "So what if he looks like a dragon? They're demons too!"

He got back up on the wall again as he said this. I dared not say another word, even when I noticed his shoelaces were undone. The bell rang and we went back inside.

For a while Neil was quiet again. I wondered if this game developer brother was the same one I met when I visited his house months ago. That brother had a gummy grin and a throaty laugh. Not someone I would want to meet again, let alone go into business with.

            Then again the thought of 'going into business' hadn't really occurred to me. I was just excited to see something I had created slowly come to life, even if it wasn't exactly how I had first imagined it. I would have liked to see Devil Cop as it was.

            "Sometime next month," Neil would always say. As naive as I was back then, I soon recognised that he was being evasive. Even so I didn't share my fears with anyone. Devil Cop was almost real. If I asked questions now, I knew that would suddenly stop.

            I didn't have to though. One day I was stood at our usual place on the embankment, waiting for Neil. When he finally arrived, his Mum stood and watched him from behind the school gates as he crossed the playground towards me.

            Neil wouldn't look up from his neatly-tied shoes. His pale hands were balled up into fists. When he caught my eye, I stepped back in case he took a swing at me.

            "It's not real," he muttered, "okay?"

            I felt a slow hollow drop inside me. "What isn't real?"

            "Devil Cop."

            "It is though." I puffed out my chest. "I came up with it."

            Neil shut his eyes and shook his head. "My brother isn't making Devil Cop, all right?"

            I sat down on the low wall. "He isn't making the game?"

            "He can't make games!"

            I didn't know what else to say. The bell didn't ring for another ten minutes so we spent that time silent beside each other. I glanced back towards the gate but Neil's Mum had long since gone.

            I did well not to cry. Sometimes disappointment comes so suddenly you can't help but accept it. Meanwhile Neil didn't look like he could accept anything. I didn't see him as a liar, not for long anyway. By the end of the day we were back to discussing Tekken 3 again.

            "If you push X and O right before Ogre becomes True Ogre," Neil told me, "A vampire steps out of the shadows. You fight him instead. If you beat him, you can play as him."

            "Name?" I asked.

            "Count Blood."

            "Cool."

            From one video game lie to the next. I believed him regardless.

            I didn't do anything with Devil Cop. I was too busy designing other video games at that time. Of course, I didn't tell Neil about any of them.

Consequences by Jo Cameron-Symes

Fields of flowers, fields of corn, 

A drop in the ocean before you were born. 

Fields of barley, fields of wheat, 

The chirping of crickets before we first meet. 

Islands of paradise, islands of sand, 

The whisper of warmth that I find in your hand. 

Mountains of wonder, mountains we yearn, 

The stone that we place on the top of the kern. 

Forests of whispers, forests of want, 

The wood that we stroke as we lie on the yacht. 

Seas of beauty, seas of pain, 

The boat that we sail through the plastic again. 

Storms of fury, storms of rage, 

The sadness we feel as we sit in our cage. 

Fires that ravage, fires that wreck, 

The anger we feel as we watch from the deck. 

The graveyards of nature, the charred acorn, 

We wonder and wish that we'd never been born.

Slow Down by Anna Kingston

Four and a half weeks of no school, four weeks into lockdown, mostly living in scruffs or pyjamas, yet I find myself more content and calmer than I’ve been in such a long time, even when I’m doing the routine stuff like laundry or food shopping.  

Queuing to go into the supermarket is mindful in an odd way: those few minutes of slowly walking and then stopping are moments of being aware of the weather around you, sounds of nature, and the quiet voices of fellow shoppers. Combined with fewer people inside the shop, I don’t dread food shopping as I did before.

There is more peace in our home with the absence of the stresses of clock-watching, rushing here and there, and doing “stuff”. My children are relaxed, even though Fortnite or Roblox tend to dominate their waking hours! We’re getting to know each other all over again, we’re baking and cooking properly again, and doing more walking. This absence of “stuff” isn’t as distressing as I expected, or maybe I’ve got used to it fairly quickly. Rather, I find that the long days we now have are allowing me to reset myself, to truly discover what I like and want to do, and giving me (mostly) uninterrupted time in which to write, make art, and think.

I love going into the garden early in the morning with a cuppa, the cat winding herself around my ankles, and really hearing the world wake up. I enjoy how my garden changes through the day, from those early, still-cool mornings, to the height of the sun at midday, warming the stones and grass, and all the way through to the stillness of the evening.

There are bumps in the road, obviously, and some of them may be permanent (I worry about about our finances, for instance), but the changed landscape of my life is providing me with pause, reset, and re-boot buttons, and I intend to take full advantage of this gift of a real slow-down and stocktake, and I hope that I’m not the only one.

I am Not an Island by Jacky Kennedy

Separated by glass,

my friend waits patiently.

A well stocked cupboard

has forged our bond.

I fear each day I may lose him.

I leave the comfort of my chair,

place meaty morsels on the lawn.

My friend cannot close his gape.

Rummaging my offerings he scoops,

swallows what he can.

Media churn out news of

a viral world. I am not an island

but for now, in body, I must be.

The phone scoops and swallows my conversations.

My blackbird is absent today.

House clean,

garden in shape.

A bird forages in a newly hoed border.

I am halfway out of my chair but….

no… it’s the robin.

New novel, not engaging,

concentration flies away.

Eyes stray to the window,

searching… garden seat, bird bath.

No blackbird.

Sipping after dinner coffee

by that lonely window,

the garden is deserted.

Eyelids, heavy… with…

disappointment… close.

                                                        

Cold coffee when I wake.

A rock settles heavy inside.

Drowsy mind explores

for its meaning…

A blackbird sized hole.

Lingering, watching fire in the sunset,

and shadows deepen.

A dark shape lands on the birdbath.

My spirits lift me from my chair.

I put out meaty morsels.

                                                 

Image by <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/TheOtherKev-9436196/?utm_source=link-attribution&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_campaign=image&amp;utm_content=4936482">TheOtherKev</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com/?utm_source=link-attribution&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_campaign=image&amp;utm_content=4936482">Pixabay</a> 

Where to Guvnor? by Dave Rigby

Where to Guvnor?

Follow that blue Mazda.

What?

That Mazda! I want you to follow it.

What for real?

Exactly – there’s a pony in it for you.

In that case I’m already following. So, what’s he done?

Who?

The Mazda driver.

Nothing…yet.

Listen guvnor this isn’t going to get dangerous is it…no shooters or anything like that?

Nothing like that mate. Get a bit nearer – you’re in danger of losing him.

Well we’re in a 30 and anyway it’s not safe to overtake on this street.

Just my luck – a cabbie who sticks to the highway code!

If he gets onto the ring road, I’ll have a chance.

He won’t.

What?

Get onto the ring road. I’d put money on it.

Where do you reckon he’s heading then?

The coast.

But that’s bloody miles!

A good wedge for you then.

Suppose so but I’ll be late for my tea and it’s the wife’s homemade pizza tonight.

Lucky you.

Alright if I call her – hands free like?

Whatever, but don’t lose the Mazda.

Sounds like I’ll have to leave a message. Sorry ducks, I’m off to the seaside, be a bit late back.

+ + +

Who is he then?

You don’t need to know and anyway, he’s a her.

You’re joking!

Wish I was.

She an ex?

Sort of.

Don’t give much away do you.

Not known for it.

Must be nearly there now.

We are.

So we are, she’s stopped! Getting out, yeah definitely not a man. What on earth is she doing now?

I think it’s called damaging my property.

So you knew where she was going all along.

Of course. Still – not as bad as I thought it might be. It’s only the fence at the moment. Quick you need to sort it out. Go and calm her down.

Me!! She’s your sort-of-ex.

Exactly, I’d only wind her up whereas you’re not involved, a neutral, could negotiate a truce. It’d double your money as well.

She’ll just tell me to get lost.

She will but I know you. You’ll talk her round.

What do you mean by that? We’ve only known each other five minutes. Why should I take this kind of risk for a bullseye?

Go on then. I’ll make it a ton. I’ll hide in here and look after the cab. Off you go.   He’s doing well, careful now, don’t get too close too soon that’s it, I knew he was a natural. Look at that, she’s dropped the spray can halfway through the word. That’ll save my rep. Oi…no need to go as far as that mate! Damn! I forgot she’s still got her key. Cup of tea, is it? Think I’ll wait in here a bit longer, make certain things have really calmed down before I venture out!

Two Poems by Andrew Shephard

Dream

My bags are in that room and you are too.

This corridor’s familiar, doors similar,

but something’s not quite right.

I turn left, climb stairs, turn right then right again,

still room, bags, you

are out of sight this roving

raving, hunting, night that feels like day

until I wake.

When I do, perhaps,

cloud curtains block the morning light.

I’m cold, exhausted from

a sheet-soaked night of searching

for room, bags, you

so close, I feel, but out of sight.

You must be found. You must!

Patiently then nervily then frantically I search.

I know the room is there, there was no sleight.

How come the building’s shifted style

and my room is out of sight?

I dream I wake. With heavy lids

I see a shape, it might be you, or someone like,

a misty silhouette in black and white

until another turn or strife

keeps you and everything that matters

to me just out of sight.

I’m stuck looking for a room that’s mine

a love that’s mine, a bag that’s mine,

scrabbling through a long twilight

for out-of-sight be-longings

up or down one flight.

All dreams end. I won’t give up, 

I'll toss and turn again tomorrow night.

Resolute

A blackbird sings in half-light

enticing the sun to rise sooner.

A blue tit taps a nest box entrance

conjuring a mate to appear.

A pigeon pair pose and coo on a roof

in the seconds between showers.

All are certain

summer is no dream.

Daffodils by Chris Lloyd

Tomorrow, April 7 marks the birthday of William Wordsworth in 1770 – 250 years ago. I thought I would remember the event with a reminder of perhaps his most famous poem with a tongue in cheek “reply”.

The Best Day - A Time Twister's Trip to Vienna by Virginia Hainsworth

To visit Vienna is to taste history.  So let me take you there. Just for a day.  But what a day!

We will start by taking breakfast at Schönbrunn Palace, with Empress MariaTheresa, in the 1740’s.  She created much of the palace as it appears today and she bore sixteen children, so we are privileged that such a busy woman has time for breakfast. This spectacular palace’s lavish interior is only matched by its beautiful grounds and it is not surprising that the Hapsburg dynasty enjoyed it as their summer residence for so many years. Gaze out of one of the windows at the back, down through pristine lawns, to the Gloriette, an ornate stone edifice on a small hilltop. It was used as viewing platform by the Hapsburgs but now houses a café. Sorry about that, Your Imperial Majesty.

Now we must hop into our horse drawn carriage, our Fiaker, and be whisked along to Café Landtmann, established in 1873. Landtmann’s is the epitome of a Viennese coffee house. Lush, velvet clad seating with impressive looking chandeliers and mirrors inlaid with polished wood. It has  served coffee to may famous figures over the years – Stalin, Trotsky, Mahler. Should we try to sit next to one of them so that we can overhear their conversations? Maybe a plot or two, a revolutionary idea or the beginnings of a new symphony being hummed over coffee. But no, we are here in the 1930’s to have a drink with Sigmund Freud, who loved to take coffee and read the papers here. We are lucky to catch him before he fled Austria in 1938 to escape the Nazis, at risk because of his Jewish heritage. Before he leaves, he persuades us to have an Apfelstrudel, that sweet, warm, apple, cinnamon and raisin filled dessert. Layers of filo pastry, covered with warm custard.

We might have to walk that one off.

And to do that, we head all the way over to the Prater Park in the 1950’s. Remember the ferris wheel in that wonderful film The Third Man? Well it is still here in the twenty first century but in addition, there is a new wheel and a high viewing tower with a bungee jumping platform. I wonder what Harry Lime would have thought of that.

After our walk around Prater Park, let’s sit down for a while and read. The National Library at the Hofburg Palace is just the place. Walnut cases from floor to ceiling, filled with those finest of treasures – books. If you were multilingual, you could stay in this room forever and never finish all it has to offer. It is one of my favourite rooms in the whole world. And if you tire of reading, there are globes, sculptures, maps, prints and drawings. Twelve million items in all.

When you see a restaurant with a queue outside all day and evening, you know there is something good on the menu. So for dinner, it has to be Figlmüller’s, the home of Wienerschnitzel. Thin cutlets of veal fried in breadcrumbs, with a wedge of lemon and a potato salad on the side, washed down with a Stiegl beer. Delicious! Not the healthiest of meals, especially when the schnitzel is so big that it hangs off the side of the plate. But one has to try it. Unless you are vegetarian, of course.

To round off our day, there must be music and dancing. And for that, it’s back to the nineteenth century to begin with, for a waltz – Viennese of course. To the music of Johann Strauss, naturally.  Mozart wrote most of his best works whilst living in Vienna in the eighteenth century. Beethoven lived here too. And Haydn sang in the Stephansdom cathedral as a boy.  If you listen carefully, you will hear notes from all of these wonderful composers seeping out of every stone in this magnificent city and floating out to every ear. But my favourite musical venue would be the Staatsoper, the State Opera House, in the twenty first century, to hear Placido Domingo sing. What a treat.

We have had a long day – over two hundred years long, in fact. So we’ll retire to bed. Maybe at the luxurious Hotel Sacher, so we can have an indulgent slice of their Sachertorte, the chocolate cake to end all chocolate cakes. On this day of days.